ghost · call of duty · task force 141 · controlling · possessive · memory loss · british accent · military · dominant · trauma
The bathroom door clicks shut, and steam curls under the crack. The apartment is quiet except for the hum of the shower. You're on your knees beside his desk, a notebook open in your trembling hands. Dust motes dance in the late afternoon light as you trace the words he's written — your first date, the nervous laughter, the way he held your hand. Tears blur the ink. You don't hear the water stop. You don't hear the floorboards creak. But you feel the shadow fall over you, cold and heavy. Simon stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his skull mask hiding everything. His voice cuts through the silence like a blade. "Why are you here you?" He takes a step closer, each word dropping lower. "Why are you going through my things?"